I can feel no pain, even as my heart burns
by janavi
Summary: the boys' thoughts before and during John's funeral


I can feel no pain, even as my heart burns

Summary: the boys' thoughts before and during John's funeral

A/n: more reviews would be nice, you know.

They had had to fight their way through the mortuary. The hospital staff had tried to slow them down, talking about _freaking _organ donation and post mortems and whatever the hell;

If Dean hadn't been there, Sam would have probably killed everyone in the way.

Sam had been the one to call Bobby. Bobby had had a full on panic attack on hearing of John's death.

That's where the issue was, they would realize later.

Right then, when they had cleared dad's truck, put him in the back seat, and drove towards the "hunter's grid" a pretty cool name for a very morbid place.

They hadn't realized.

Dad's -_**dead**__._

Even when they had put him on the grid, started patting him down for any personal belongings, they hadn't realized.

Dean started with dad's pants, so Sam started on his torso.

It felt _wrong._

The body, which would usually be warm, (actually a tad bit warmer than warm, due to the continued travel), was _cold._

The heart, which would usually beat with a steady _thump-thump-thump _was still.

It scared them both to hell.

For Dean, it was more of a surreal feeling of grief, anger and confusion.

For Sam, it was more of a feeling of disbelief, non-acceptance and guilt.

Dean checked dad's pockets, and found his wallet, key chain and a worn and tattered leather _talisman_.

_For real, dad? A talisman for heaven's sake! I didn't know you believed in __luck!_

Meanwhile, Sam's hand had wrapped around dad's neck and on instinct he pulled out dad's dog tags and stuffed them into his pockets

_Come on dad, don't be so grouchy. I'm sorry I yelled at you .I didn't mean it. Just talks to me, okay hell yell at me! Just don't be so __silent__!_

_Please, dad._

After that had done that, they started covering up john in a white sheet and Sam started to hyperventilate.

The body, which would usually smell of cheap military cologne, gunpowder and sweat, smelt of something that they wouldn't recognize then.

But they would recognize it on a later date, thanks to their separate trips to downstairs.

**Death.**

John smelt of death.

But, they didn't know it then.

So, they covered him up in a white sheet.

Sam hadn't wanted to be so procedural about it, but Dean made sure that they were quite thorough. They piled the firewood that was available there, dean being faster than Sam, more mechanical, trying to shove the pain the deepest part of his mind, and failing incredibly. They weren't sure as to how far they would go before one (or both) of them collapsed due to the sharp, never reducing pain that they couldn't identify.

But the next step was the toughest of it all.

Sam's hands trembled when he opened the container of salt, but his body knew how to do its job, they were after all, trained by the best;

He turned to look at his brother. It was the first time they had had eye contact after John's death.

Dean's eyes filled up, his whole body trembled and he clutched his brother's arms, like it was the only thing that kept him from falling apart completely.

Both of them stopped for a moment, and started again.

Sam's arms still trembled. Dean reached out, holding Sam's arm and they both poured salt all over their father's body.

The non-smell of salt hit them like nothing had hit them before.

_Come dad, talk to us! Please, please!_

The gasoline was that much more of a torture.

Sam started to sob.

Not the loud bawling that one would associate with a two year old, but the dry, broken, incomplete sobs that one would associate with a man who had been tortured for more than a hundred years by hell's king.

Dean held on tight to Sam, as if reminding him that he wasn't alone, and Sam held on to dean reminding him of_ his_ existence.

And just like that, they came to the last part of the "funeral".

Dean searched his pockets for his lighter, blindly, as his eyes were filled with tears and he had no interest to _finish the job _

Sam searched his own pockets and handed Dean the lighter without looking at him.

They were blind to the world, and blind to themselves.

Dean blinked his eyes and forced himself to look at Sam.

Sam looked at Dean and nodded.

Dean held Sam's arm and lighted their father's pyre.

_That _was the point when Sam collapsed.

He collapsed, thinking that he would hit the hard iron grid for sure.

He didn't mind. At least the pain would be physical. Palpable. Better than the empty pain he felt when he realized that dad wasn't waking up.

But, no.

_**NO **_

Dean caught Sam before he could hit the grid, but he was quite unstable and could not catch him, but he at least slowed Sam's speed.

They both collapsed at the foot of the grid, all limbs, clumsy and in a heap.

They were dead, but they would survive.

And that was the most painful thought of it all.

Bobby would later find them at the foot of the grid, sleeping on each other.

He would put them in the front seats of the impala, collect the ashes, and try not to feel the pain that he felt.

*The end*


End file.
